Oh.
They were alphas.
Why was it always alphas?Alphas flirting, and alphas trying to get my number… but never down for anything more than something casual.
I, Avril Stryker, am well aware that I am just a beta. I learned my lesson about dating alphas early on in my dating career. I’d sworn off all alphas way before I’d even met Dylan.
Alphas might be sexy as all hell, with dream bodies and washboard abs that I literally wouldn’t mind doing my laundry on—brushing all my dripping clothes against gloriously defined muscle… but none of them were ever serious. At least they weren’t serious about me.
Alphas on dating apps were always just passing the time, looking for a hook-up. They saw me as hot enough to fuck, but all of them were holding out on commitment untilthe onecame along. For most alphas,the onewasn’t some beta woman. No, they might not admit it to my face, but they all wanted a dainty little omega.
It was fine. All of this was basic biology.
ButIwasn’t about to be strung along until their perfect little scent-matched omega girl came into the picture.
Don’t get me wrong, there would probably be nothing better for my bruised ego than to get under the sheets and do the horizontal tango with one or two of my very delicious matches…maybe even at the same time. Nothing wrong with letting loose and having a bit of a ho-phase. It would probably help me build character. It’s not like I’m too old for a fun little situation-ship, where nothing was ever defined and we were just sort of emotionally playing hide and seek with commitment.
If only I didn’t have this deadline in the shape of tens of thousands of dollars in non-refundable deposits on a venue, catering, a photographer, the reservation for the live artist wedding painter and—okay, I needed to focus and stop getting distracted by dick.
Right now, I needed a man who was gonna put a ring on it, ASAP. A beta was a better bet for matrimony.
I scrolled through my matches.Whydidn’t they make some sort of filter for designation? It would make this so much easier.
But when I scrolled to my first beta match, my initial excitement drained fast.
Oh.
He was.
Hmmm.
His face was symmetrical, I guess. Hard to tell, with the huge picture of the fish he’d caught taking up half the photo.
What was up with that? I was trying to date a man, not a fish. I wasn’t sexually attracted to trout.
I swiped through his other pictures, wincing at the fedora tipped at a jaunty angle and the look in his eye that was probably meant to be hot and smoldering, but just made the guy look like he was squinting or a tad bit constipated. Did he have any normal photos?
His next picture was a group picture. But why was he surrounded by girls? Why did some of them look like they were still in high school?
Okay… what was this guy’s name? Brayden?
Brayden probably wasn’t actually a sea of red flags—right? Maybe I was just too sensitive after everything that happened with the last guy I picked.
The good thing about getting cheated on was that the bar was on the floor. Did this guy look like he could keep his balance without losing control and somehow falling cock-first into a wayward vagina? That would automatically make him better than Dylan.
But… I had hundreds of matches; the prince charming beta of my dreams had to be here somewhere between all the alpha matches.
I flipped through another thirty alpha profiles before getting to another beta.
Wait one damn minute…. Heactuallyseemed normal!
No, Avril. I had to mentally shake myself and rein everything in.Remember girl, don’t get excited until you read his bio.
I’m talking to myself. I’m having a rough week with the whole cheating thing and plan to save the wedding, so sue me.
Just looking for something serious. I’m a sucker for a good cup of coffee and a pretty face. Swipe right if you love dogs!
No red flags in his bio either. Who was this guy? His name was Mark.
